When I Say Run, RUN
by ShezzaSherlock
Summary: The world has gone to chaos. The dead don't stay dead and everyone is joining them. The few remaining survivors fight everyday for another day. Everyday just surviving, not living. John Watson has been doing exactly this until one day a stranger appears in his life. This stranger is Sherlock Holmes. Johnlock and Lestrolly
1. First Encounter

**Hi guys Dana here I'll try not to have too many authors notes! I've loved Sherlock for a long time now and I was dying to try out this fic. Hope you like it.  
I'm trying to include the perspective of John and Sherlock, their thoughts and such, hope it works! The story starts a few months into the Apocalypse. Zombie apocalypse in case you're wondering. Hopefully I stick to their character but remember people change when trying to survive so please don't kill me if I change them slightly! Any flaws please feel free to point them out to me so I can make the story better, you opinion always helps! Please be kind though I have feelings! :)  
Moriarty will appear soon dont worry ;) and there will be Johnlock I promise!**

**Comic version will come out soon, hopefully!  
**

**I redid the entire story as far as Chapter 8, the plot is the same just added a few extra parts!  
Please feel free to review! :D**

John laid in bed, his eyes shut but the rest of his senses alert. Stubby fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt of a serrated knife. There was a consuming darkness outside the windows of the isolated house. It was a quiet night, the first one in weeks, no walkers pounding against the door, no survivors, just the resting doctor. The only noise came from his soft breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly as he enjoyed the rare peace. At the end of the double bed laid his medic kit, gathering dust also missing a few bandages with a dried blood stain in the corner. On the bedside table rested his loaded Colt M1911 with a few bullets scattered along the table. John's eyebrows begins to furrow as the memories of the outbreak flood his mind, blood, screams, death, Mary.. _CRASH!_

John bolted upright. The entire house was shrouded in complete darkness but a small trickle of moonlight seeps through the window.  
"Shit!" John thought. "Raiders, great."  
He swiped the gun off the bedside table, pulled back the slide and silently opened the door. Tiptoeing down the stairs he discovered the intruder is in the kitchen. There was frequent muttering and the creak of doors opening, the raider was obviously just scavenging for food but nonetheless John had to be cautious as he slowly peered around the corner. A dark shadow was frantically searching through the cupboards throwing the contents into a bag, it kept glancing around the room, in fear of being discovered. Suddenly its head turns towards the spot where John was standing, it lowered its bag and backed away from the presses. Walkers were much easier to deal with. They weren't people anymore, they were stupid and dead. People on the other hand were smart, cunning and dangerous. People were harder to kill because they were human, they were just doing the same as John, fighting for tomorrow. John only killed when he was left without a choice. Now he had a choice, he rose his gun and aimed at the figure in front of him.

"Stop." came a deep voice. He was a man, a tall man with curly hair, he was a good few inches taller than John but John had the only weapon. The mysterious man turned and took a step towards him, hands rested by his side as if he didn't have a care about the gun.  
"One more step and you'll be as dead as those walkers." John warned, his hands were steady. He had no fear of killing a man, he'd done it plenty of times before, all in defense, and now was no different.  
"I'm hungry." replied the shadow. "I don't mean any harm, I was just.. searching."  
"We're all hungry now-a-days."  
"Not you, you have plenty of food."  
"Exactly. I have food you don't. It's mine."  
"We could share." John considered the idea, he haven't had a chance to talk to anyone in weeks by now. The last time he met someone she tried to shoot his head off and rob him, she wasn't the only one either.  
"Fine hope you like cold soup."  
"Delightful."  
There was the sound of a chair being pulled out and the figure plonked onto it. The moon was now hidden behind a cloud so John took out a candle and lit it. The mans face flickered under the little flame. His dark unkempt curls falling over his face, his thin yet strong face with his cheekbones jutting out. The face of a man who hadn't eaten in days. He sat there wearing a trench coat with his hands resting on the table twiddling his thumbs. John fumbled with the can opener until he finally managed to get the blasted thing open. Pouring the contents into a bowl he noticed the stranger was staring intensely right at him. Even in the candle light John couldn't help but notice how attractive the man was. After a few seconds John decided to break the awkward silence.

"Who are you?"  
"The name is Sherlock Holmes. Ex - consulting detective."  
"John. John Watson." Sherlock stood up and stretched out his arm.  
"Pleasure." John placed the bowl onto the table and half heartily shook Sherlock's hand. John sat at the other end of the table, his gun ready just in-case. John had grabbed himself a packet of stale biscuits and began to nibble on them no taking his eyes off the stranger across from him.  
"Dinner and a candle, how.. romantic."  
"Funny.." John muttered. He smiled. He actually smiled. It felt strange. John hadn't smiled in months and yet this stranger appears in his life and within ten minutes in the company of this man, John's smiling. He happily sat there and watched Sherlock devour his meal.

When Sherlock scooped the last of the soup into his mouth, he picked up the bowl and placed it in the sink. His hand wavered over the tap for a moment then it fell direfully by his side.  
"Thank you, John."  
"Well you didn't try to kill me so, no problem. "  
Sherlock looked out the window to the blackness outside. It was dangerous out there during the day, even worse at night. It was a miracle that Sherlock even made it to this house, it would be suicide going out there again. John made a sudden decision.

"You can spend the night here. I mean as long as you don't do anything rash. You can stay in one of the spare rooms."  
Sherlock looked at him with his head slightly tilted. John couldn't help but feel like he was being examined.  
"Okay." came the reply. He pulled his scarf from around his neck and took off his coat. John lent over the table and blew out the little flame. When he looked up the man was gone. John could hear a small creak from upstairs telling him that Sherlock was staying in the room across from his. A strange feeling began to form in John, was it hope, happiness or even affection, processing these thoughts John trudged upstairs and fell into his bed. A light snore assured him that his housemate was already asleep.

"What's the point of living if there's nobody to live it with anyway." thought John. "Even if he kills me tonight I couldn't care less." John doubted it. He already began to trust the stranger with the dark curls and deep voice. And with these thoughts he drifted into a dreamless sleep, for the first time in months.


	2. Dead Deductions

**Bang. **John launches out of the bed, gun out. **Bang. **Tearing down the stairs he turns off the safety. **Bang. **He bolted downstairs, slipping on the last step and crashing backwards onto the cold hard floor. there was definitely going to be a bruise. **Bang. **Lying on the floor, blinded by the psin in his lower back, John's mind began to race. Was there infected outside? Survivors breaking in? Was Sherlock okay? Panic and fear grew in John, fear for his safety and the safety of his temporary housemate. Quickly he pushed himself back onto his feet and tore into the kitchen. There stood Sherlock with a hammer in one hand and the other holding a wooden plank against the previously shattered window.  
"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded, rubbing his aching back.  
"Re'airing." Sherlock replied with a mouth full of nails.  
"Do you have any idea how important it is to be quiet?!" John limped towards the window and checked the surroundings.  
Sherlock calmly placed the hammer onto the counter and removed the nails from his mouth. "Of course John. I'm not an idiot I checked the surroundings before I started." John walked towards the cupboards huffing. "I noticed that you already collected nails and boards so I decided to start the job for you."  
He took out two tins and the can opener, while twisting the lids open John noticed the time, 7:15  
"But this hour in the morning!"  
"I was bored." Sherlock took a step back and admired his work.

Both John and Sherlock were sitting at the table eating up the tinned fruit, Sherlock kept pulling faces of disgust after every bite but feeling guilty after rudely waking John he decided to keep quiet.  
"I miss bread." John said absent mindlessly. Sherlock was useless for small talk.  
"Where's the water?" Sherlock asked ignoring Johns statement. He stood, up not waiting for an answer and checked the fridge. Even though there was no electricity to run the fridge inside it there were several cans of beer, coka-cola and bottles of water.  
"Creatures of habit." Sherlock muttered while extracting a bottle from the fridge.  
"Make yourself at home why don't you." says John annoyed. The man hasn't been here for a full 24 hours yet it felt like he's been here his entire life. He acted like it too.  
"Well you did ask me to stay." says Sherlock smirking slightly.  
"No I invited you to stay the night."  
"Oh would you like me to leave?" He picked up the can and makes his way towards the exit.  
"No! No, you could stay. If you'd like to."  
Sherlock looks down at the man, giving him a small smile and sits on the chair again. They finished breakfast in silence.

After breakfast the two men decide to continue the improve the home's defenses. First step was the windows, they were sitting ducks in the case of an attack. Sherlock proved that by breaking in last night. After an hour of hammering and occasional cursing from John, Sherlock bored with the constant sound of hammers on wood began the conversation.  
"How long have you been by yourself?"  
"A while." Sherlock realised that he was on a sensitive topic but none the less he needed to know more.  
"What happened?" His eyes cast downwards to John's hand. "What was her name?"  
John swallowed. "Who's?"  
"Your wife's."  
John began to muttered something about checking the ammo supply and walks out, not taking a second look at Sherlock. He wasn't angry at Sherlock, he understood that he was only trying to make conversation but he just didn't want to talk about it.  
"Certainly not trying that again." thought Sherlock as he returned to his work.

When Sherlock finally finished boarding the windows he walked into the living room to see John staring at a map pinned onto a wall. He instantly recognises the map as the town down the road. The red lines across certain building implying that they've been searched, others has circles and little notes on the side. One part of the town had a large square around it with the words "Off limits" surrounding it. Sherlock sat on the couch, his chin resting on his fingertips. He began to study John's map, it was important information if Sherlock ever plans to go into the town but why is the northern sector off limits. Just before he could speculate on that thought he remembered his earlier conversation.  
"Mary huh?"  
"What?!" John spins around clearly furious.  
"Her name was Mary."  
"How_. _Did. You. Find. Out." John's voice began dangerously quiet. Sherlock looked at the shorter man, he felt strange, it took him a moment to figure out what he felt. Sympathy.  
"You were muttering it while I was working. John I know-"  
"You know nothing!"  
"I know _everything_." John gave him a look of pure anger. Sherlock took this as an opportunity to show off. "I know you were a soldier who fought in a foreign country where you were shot. I know you then met your wife and married. I know you were a doctor and you blame yourself for not being able to save her."  
John's mouth opened and closed a few time before he gives up trying to speak. Tears are forming in his eyes when he turns back to the map. Sherlock, realising he went too far leaves the man in peace. His vision blurry John looks up at the northern section of the map before falling to his knees in a quiet sob.

The autumn sun is high in the sky when John decides to get ready to search for supplies. He considered inviting Sherlock but remembered the encounter earlier and decides against it. He briskly puts on his coat, his bag and grabs his trusty crowbar before exiting the building. He took a few steps past the fence before coming to a stop. Even though Sherlock had acted quite rude earlier he was 100% right with what he had said. John being secretly impressed with the man and realised that he would be handy in his search for food. He looked at his watch knowing he only has a few hours of daylight left.  
"I supposed I'll need him.." mumbled John, eyes still focused on the watch he turned around to come face to face with a walker. The creature lunged on top of John, taking advantage of his brief distraction. The monster was heavier than John and stronger. John was just only able to prevent the walker from getting an instant bite into his neck and was left using the crowbar to hold the zombies head away from him. Unable to push the monster off of him John focused on preventing it from biting him while frantically trying to formulate a plan before his arms give away. Too many people have died this way, John didn't want to die, at least not like this. If he wanted to go he'd much rather a bullet, that way he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

The zombies teeth were slowly edging closer and closer to Johns skin when suddenly there's the familiar crunch of bone breaking as a hammer smashed into the walkers skull. It fell lifeless onto John's beating chest before two hands grab it and throws it into the ditch. John looks up to see his savior as the curly haired Sherlock. Sherlock extends a hand to which John gladly accepts. Back on his feet John opens his mouth to say thank you but Sherlock interrupts saying.  
"I heard you leave so I decided to follow. I would of been here quicker but I had to find my coat." Sherlock was looking around John trying to spot anymore dangers.  
"Thanks" John said feeling his cheeks go red.  
"Honestly don't know how you survived this long."  
"I was distracted."  
"Clearly." Sherlock smiled at him. "Let's go shopping."  
The two men let out a small giggle. John knew he shouldn't be giggling after an ordeal such as this but he didn't care. It felt good and he hadn't felt this way in a long time.


	3. The Game

As they laughed, the first few houses on the outskirts of the town came into view, John usually ignored these houses as they've been previously raided by other people. Every day was the same for John, trek into town, scavenge, survive and return to the house to prepare for the same next day, not living just surviving. He never knew why he just didn't put a gun to his head and ended it over the past few months yet when he looked at the mysterious man striding next to him, he realised why he kept going. He was looking for a friend. Sherlock paused at the nearest house, and began to analyse it. John was about to tell him that there's no point when he became aware at the state of the house. This used to be someones home, a family home by the looks of it. As John stared at the remains of the ransacked buildings, with glass and debris strewn across the overgrown grass, flashback of when the virus first broke out floods his mind.

He was in the hospital tending the injured, trying to make order of the chaos that filled the bloody halls. There was one patient that he'd never forget. She was a young woman, mid twenties, her whole life ahead of her. She laid there, covered in several ugly bite marks across her limbs. John remembered standing over her madly trying to control the bleeding while she laid there desperately trying to catch her breath.  
"Hey you're not going to give up on me now are you?" John said trying to calm the woman, he needed to slow her heart rate. Blood was just pouring from her, dripping onto the floor below. Nobody noticed her state, nobody had the time to. Realising there was no hope John took the girl's hand and sat there next to her as her breaths became shorter and shorter. The madness and chaos around John didn't affect him in the slightest, he just focused on comforting the girl in her last moments. He was used to chaos, but he was never used to death. During his time in Afghanistan he saw many comrades, friends and even civilians die. Each death attacked John but he had learned to push past it. He had to. Right now all that mattered was making this girl's last moments as peaceful as possible. Soon as the last of her life left her eyes, John looks at his watch.

"Time of death 8:34pm." he muttered while he leaned over to close the lifeless girls eyes and began to pull a blanket over her corpse. Just as the blanket touched her face her eyes flew open. John fell back in shock as the assumed dead girl slowly raised herself from her deathbed. It wasn't a miracle, something was different. Her movements were ridged and her eyes still lacked any life. Those dead eyes locked onto John and she released an inhuman growl. She slowly stumbled towards John teeth baring and not breaking eye contact. John with his back against the wall, frozen to the spot began breathing rapidly, it was medically physically impossible. She had died, he just saw it and now she's walking towards him except she wasn't the girl anymore she was something else and she was getting closer.

Suddenly there was a flash of red and a clang of metal when John looked up to see his friend Mike standing there with a bloody, dented, fire extinguisher in his hand. Dropping the extinguisher with a clash, he bends down to face John.  
"Shit's going down mate, we've got to get out of here!" He hoists John onto his feet and the two of the race down the corridor. People, corpses, and equipment flashed past John in a blur of red and silver. John took a quick glance into the rooms as he passes. There was blood sprayed onto the walls and unholy screams emerging from every angle. A doctor crashed through a window followed by a cannibalistic creature tearing at his chest. Feeling sick John turned his head he kept his eyes fixed on escaping.

The exit was blocked by a crashed ambulance, fire and smoke billowing from its hood, it was on the verge of exploding. A paramedic was frantically banging against the windscreen yelling for help. He caught John's eye but before John could run over and help a bloody figure appears behind the man and sinks it's teeth into the poor soul spurting crimson all over the glass. His scream just blended in with the chaos that filled the building. Mike grabbed John by the collar and pushed him to the office next to the exit. In the room laid a mangled body her face shadowing the pains he had endured before her death. John gagged slightly at the sight of this, he had seen many violent deaths in his careers but it was nothing compared to this. Death and blood filled the halls of this deathtrap. Mike slammed the door shut behind John and began pacing the room in a mad panic.  
"What do we do John? We're trapped!"  
John searched the room for an exit where his eyes fell onto the window. Without hesitation he picks up the metal chair and flings it at the window causing it to shatter into a million pieces.

The two men clamber out of the window and bolt down the street away from the madness of the hospital to find the entire city in a state of chaos. London was falling. People running in a mad panic from the horde of undead, police shooting at random walkers in a complete frenzy, cars smashing into buildings. London was on fire again but this time the flame looked like it would win. Gunshots, screaming and explosions were the only sounds John could pick up but he didn't care about any of this. He only had one thing on his mind.  
"Mary!" John exclaimed. "We've got to find Mary!"  
"You're on your own mate. I got family too." replied Mike hopping from one foot to the other. John just stared at his friend.  
"Look we could meet up, with our families." he suggests.  
"Okay.. um at Greenwich. I'll see you at the pier in Greenwich in 2 hours!" and with that statement both men bolt off through slaughter of the city.

Exhausted and terrified John finally manages to slot the key into the door and falls through. Crashing on the floor he remained there until he could catch his breath.  
"John?" called out a worried voice from upstairs.  
"Mary, oh thank.. God. Thank God!"  
"What's going on I heard something on the radio about riots and I got- OH MY GOD JOHN ARE YOU OKAY?!"  
John's face still pressed against the wooden floor nods uselessly in the dark.  
"Yes... I'm.. fine." He muttered through ragged breaths. "They weren't.. riots Mary." John noted the fear in his voice as did Mary. She flicked on the lights to reveal her husband lying on the hall floor in a bloodied shirt.  
"Dear god John what is going on?"  
John pushed himself onto his knees and looks into his wife's beautiful eyes. Not caring about the blood he wrapped his arms around her resting his head onto her shoulders. She cautiously raised her hand and slowly stroked his short blonde hair, not caring about the blood either.  
"We've got to go. Now." John whispered into her ear.

Suddenly John feels a weight on his shoulder, snapping back into reality he realised that he spent an age staring at the tall grass. He looked up to see Sherlock standing beside him staring at him with an expression of worry. The expression soon drained from his face leaving his usual blank appearance. Sherlock removes his hand from John's shoulder and strutted to the door-frame, walks over the broken door and enters the ruined building. John remains where he was with his eyes now downcast onto his hand where he's absent mindlessly twists the gold band around his finger. Everything was so different now, he was so alone until now when Sherlock appears, but what if he leaves again. He can't be alone, not again he won't last.

Seconds later Sherlock's head emerged from the house. He's carrying a jar of bolognese sauce and a packet of batteries.  
"Jackpot " he gloated. "Are you going to make yourself useful or just stand there all day?"  
John looked up to see the detective waving the items in front of him. His heart lightened a bit he pushed past Sherlock and begins to search the cupboards. Noticing a competition arising between them Sherlock packed away his findings while muttering.  
"_The game is on._"


	4. Treasure Hunt

The clatter and bangs of press doors opening and contents of food being swept into bags was the only sound in the deserted house. John was in the middle of checking the date of canned peaches when he hears a creak from the upstairs. Frozen to the spot he strained his ears trying to pick up anymore movement. Sherlock, on the other hand, continued to search through drawers, throwing unwanted items onto the floor.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Mmh?" Replied the man examining some sort of cleaning product in front of him.  
"Did you check if the house was empty?" John nodded his head towards the ceiling.  
"Obviously John, the only way into the building is through the front door which, from the build up of mud residue, nobody has used." John feeling strangely at ease continued in his search of food. After a few minutes he glanced down at Sherlock who was examining the chemicals under the sink.  
"You know Sherlock, food is a bit more important."  
"I need bleach." Bleach? John wondered why on earth the man wanted bleach for. Sherlock looked up to see the doctor give him a funny look.  
"What?"  
"What are you going to do with bleach? Clean the floor?" Sherlock threw him a dirty look. "Well you could at least pack _some_ food."  
Sherlock swung open a nearby press with such force that it was a surprise that the hinges didn't snap. He snatched a packed of spaghetti and flung it into the bag.  
"Happy?"  
John turned away trying to hide the smile on his face and began to focus on the cupboard above him. Sherlock still staring intensely at John suddenly noticed an item stashed within the cupboard. Cigarettes. John simply ignored the cigarettes and proceeded to grab the lighters next to them. A box fell from the shelf onto the floor with a light thud. Sherlock practically danced over to John and scooped the packet of the ground.

"Smoker huh?"  
Sherlock instantly swiped out a cigarette and places it smartly in his mouth.  
"Do you ha'e a light?"  
John sighed but withdrew a lighter from his pocket. Sherlock leaned his face towards the flame igniting the tip of the smoke. Taking a deep breath he then released a cloud of smoke with a wide grin across his face. John returned to work taking advantage of Sherlock's smoking break, after all the game is still on. Sherlock leaned against the wall enjoying the nicotine that was now in his system. He flicked the ash onto the floor below, nobody lived here to care anyway. John at this time was searching the fridge. The smell coming from it was revolting and John gagged as soon as he opened it. Pinching his nose with one hand, he searched through the fridge with the other. Majority of the food had turned black and moldy but the jams and drinks were in perfect condition. There were even a couple of chocolate bars. Tonight was going to be a good night, he thought, a nice cuppa with a Yorkie. He treasured those moments most of all, everything felt normal then. He could just sit there and pretend to be at home in the suburbs of London with his wife. He used to imagine her sitting across him chatting about her day at the clinic, but of course he couldn't do that now. He didn't need to. Sherlock was here, he mightn't be the most social person in the world but at least he had company now, someone to share a cup of tea with.

After the kitchen is devoid of all edible food Sherlock and John their bags getting pretty heavy decided split up and begin to search in other rooms. John enters the study to find papers scattered across the room. The television and computer are missing and there's multiple empty CD cases thrown around the room. The house was raided during the early stages of the outbreak when things like that had some meaning. Now all electronics, money and such were trivial in the fight for survival. Knowing that there was little that he could find useful John searched the room anyway.  
"Should of sent Sherlock in here instead." John thought to himself. A glimmer of light caught John's eye, his eyes fell onto a broken picture frame on the floor. There in the photo a young family, a man and woman both in their early thirties and a young boy only about 4 years old. John's stomach began to churn as Mary came to mind. Teeth gritted he kicked the photo out of the way hearing the glass crack as he does. Realising nothing in the room is of any use he exits and trudged upstairs into the bathroom.

One of the perks of being a doctor is identifying medication. Although most of the mirrored cupboard is full of unimportant items such as makeup, John managed to scavenge a tube of toothpaste, a few boxes of pain killers and a bottle of cough medicine. About to leave the room John spots a bottle of cologne. He held it up to his nose, it smelt good and so he puts some on and added it to his stash.

Upstairs Sherlock was rooting through the contents inside the bedroom. Shirts, ties and socks flying across the room as Sherlock tore through the drawers.  
"Come on.. where are you?" Sherlock mutters to himself. Finally his hands brush against the smooth cold wooden box. Carefully Sherlock lifted the lid of it revealing a Colt.45 lying surrounded by smaller boxes containing ammunition. He quickly loads the gun and stores it under his belt. He suddenly remembered losing his gun while fleeing from a brawl which created a feeling of embarrassment in Sherlock, but Sherlock being Sherlock he quickly suppressed the emotion and continued his search.

"Right c'mon sun's about to set!" John called from across the hall. Sherlock quickly changed his shirt and ran downstairs to meet up with his new companion. He looks down to the shorter man in wonder. People were always annoying, stupid and bothersome but he didn't feel this way with John. Perhaps it's because of the situation and his body's ability to adapt to survive. Even still Sherlock had a feeling that the situation didn't matter. No he's a sociopath, a highly functioning sociopath in matter of fact. Still staring at the man he grew to call a coworker, if you even call a fellow survivor that, and he followed him back to safety of their house.


	5. Drugs and Viruses Don't Mix

In their trip home they bumped into a pair walkers. Sherlock froze, there was fear and confusion in his eyes but mostly pain. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. With each passing second the pair grew closer, John expected Sherlock to easily execute the old zombies, but Sherlock just stood there, staring. The zombies were only a mere metre away when John decided to take action. Without a second thought John swiftly lodged the blade of his knife and the end of his crowbar into the eye sockets of the pair. Sherlock flinched when he saw this. As John cleaned the blood and brain off his blade he looked up towards Sherlock, ready to mock him. Instead his face fell when his eyes met Sherlock, there were tears forming in the detectives eyes. Realising what was happening Sherlock quickly blinked them away and began to walk down the street. John wondered how two undead creatures could cause the great Sherlock Homes to stop in fear like a young child, what caused the tears to form. With these thoughts John jogged off to catch up with his friend.

Their pace was slower from the weight of their bags as they slowly trudged past the frequent crashed vehicle. After passing the fifth car Sherlock disappears behind only noticed by John when he hears the click of a boot door opening.  
"What are you doing?" he asks mildly. After the events earlier John didn't want to bother Sherlock too much.  
"The driver, wealthy man, involved with drugs. Probably a distributer or in a high position within the drug chain." came the reply from the boot.  
"And you're searching the boot of his car, for drugs?" joked John. An annoyed head appeared carrying a small black suitcase. Not saying a word he slammed the boot shut and threw the suitcase of top forcefully. Opening the case he revealed an array of items including thousands of pounds carefully bound in rubber bands, a few small bags of a white powdery substance, a revolver and a blaisong. Sherlock threw the money and drugs onto the ground, slammed the case shut before marching down the road leaving John to stare at him from a distance. It was Johns turn to go to far this time.

When John arrived at the house he found Sherlock had lit the fire and sprawled across the couch facing inwards. As Sherlock sulked, John began to empty his bag. It was a good days find, great in fact. The house was completely stocked up, probably because, he thought, like everyone else that it was previously raided of food. John would of missed the house entirely if it wasn't for Sherlock. Yet he's confused to why Sherlock was so hungry when arrived at his house the night before. Then he remembered fighting the walkers earlier. There was a mystery behind Sherlock, and John was going to find out.

Finally finished emptying his bag and proud of his findings he turned to find what Sherlock managed to collect. John picked up Sherlock's heavy bag shooting a quick glance at him in case he was to get in trouble but the suited man only stirred in his sulk. Emptying the contents onto the table, John begins to sort them out. Sherlock only gathered a small quantity of food, a jar of coffee, bolungese sauce and a bag of pasta. The main weight behind the bag was books, mainly scout journals and hunting guides. Carefully John piles them together at the end of the table. On the table there was also a little black bag, tearing apart the Velcro John opens it to see many tools including a small magnifying glass. Also lying on the table was a pair of handcuffs, a flashlight and a dead mobile phone. Assuming these items already belonged in the bag he neatly placed them back in before returning to the couch.

Using his free hand John reached for the case when Sherlock jerked up and began to shout  
"Get back that's mine!"  
John quickly grabbed the case and backed away into the kitchen.  
"You had no problem letting me root through your bag, what are you hiding in this?" Sherlock's face fell as John flicked the locks.  
"The weapons, they're mine." said Sherlock reaching for the case. John reacting quickly turned his back and opened the case.  
A small "no" escapes John's mouth as he lifted up a small white bag. Sherlock's hand fell as does his head slightly.  
"What's this?" John asked dangerously waving the bag. The room remains silent for a moment before John burst into a fit of rage.  
"A druggie great! I let a druggie into my house, after everything that has happened and I end up sharing my house with a druggie! What is this anyway crack? Cocaine?"  
"Heroin."  
"Heroin even better! I'm stuck here with a heroin addict!" He threw the bag at Sherlock who recoiled slightly at the contact. Unable to look at John in the face he set his eyes on the bag at his feet.  
"Can't even take your eyes off it! Nope that's it get out."

Sherlock's head shot up to look at John with an expression of surprise.  
"What?" he asked his voice sounding slightly strained. He needed John, John was his best hope for survival.  
"You heard me." John snatched Sherlock's bag from the ground, shoved all of his items from the table into it and pushed the bag into Sherlock, causing him to stumble a bit.  
"Get out." But Sherlock remained rooted to the spot, eyes fixed of John. There's a silent stare off between the two men. Sherlock having no plans on leaving refuses to even blink. Anger and frustration boiling up in John, his fingers started to twitch near his gun, Sherlock noted this.

"_Go. Now." _bellowed John his voice shaking with anger.  
Sherlock realising that intimidation will not work with the doctor he tries a different route.  
"Please."  
John's eyes soften slightly, Sherlock seeing this sign of weakness pushed it further.  
"It's to help me.. help me forget." He wasn't expecting the last part of sentence to leave his mouth but the words hit home. John loosened up and picked the bag up off the ground. Sherlock's heart lifted a bit.  
"I suppose we all want to forget." John muttered focused on the bag. He then took a few paces to the window and lifted the hatch. "But this isn't the way to do it." Emptying the packet the wind carried away the drug until there were no traces of it left. Sherlock gave John a brief nod before picking up his bag and disappearing into his room.


	6. Lesson Learned

Next few days passed peacefully. John had forgiven Sherlock when Sherlock promised to lay off the drugs. Excluding the cigarettes of course. Their home had quite a decent fortification at this stage, a tall wooden fence surrounding the gardens with a ladder being the only entrance to their safe haven. Any person could climb over the fence if they tried but a walker would just continuously bump into it until John or Sherlock disposed of it. There were no people to climb over it. When the fence was completed they were pretty proud of it. Sherlock especially. He'd walk around it checking it for any weak spots. Through their constant use of teamwork over those days a strong bond began to form between the pair. The office became their planning room and experiment laboratory, Sherlock insisted that he needed the kitchen for his experiments as he needed to be close to water but John was having non of that. The walls of the room were pinned with diagrams, test results and maps. Sherlock waiting for an experiment to finish began to pace the room, before stopping at the wall.

"So.." said Sherlock looking at the now very red map. "What should we do now?"  
"Relax maybe?" replied John the couch. Sherlock looked at his friend from across the room in horror. "Relax? Dull. No let's do something exciting!"  
"Exciting? What could we possibly do that is exciting here?" John reached across the coffee table and picked up the nearest book. Treasure Island. How he missed the internet, he missed his blog. It was very boring he'll admit but still he enjoyed writing in it. Sherlock begans pacing around the room in frustration again. He ran out of cigarettes yesterday, and john refused to go searching for more.  
"We could go out, explore the other side of the village!" he exclaimed, his hands swinging madly.  
"You're mad! That part is filled with infected and no offence but you can't even handle the small few around here." says John opening his book. Noticing Sherlock had fallen silent he began to read the book. It was an old book but kept in good condition. "The owner must of cared for this a lot." thought John "I wonder who it was." He opened the cover to see the name Sherlock Holmes scrawled across it in a child's handwriting.  
"Oh this is yours?"  
"Yup."  
"Do you mind if I read it or-"  
"No you can read it. I don't mind." With that John began to delve into the story.

Only three pages in and John had the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at, taking a quick glance from the novel he saw Sherlock staring down at him.  
"Do you mind?" asks John slightly irritated, Sherlock did say he could read the book after all. "You did say I could read this."  
"Read it later. Come on." Sherlock tore the book from Johns hand, to which John jerked up angrily.  
"Sherlock what the hell-"  
"Teach me."  
"What?"  
"Teach me how to fight, them." Sherlock's throat got very dry, he knew how to fight them. He wasn't the perfect fighter but he was suffice enough. He just needed to get out and stop thinking. John notice Sherlock's discomfort.  
"Okay grab your gear."

Both men were standing in the late autumn's sun each carrying a gun, a knife and their primary weapon. John's crowbar and Sherlock's axe. Originally Sherlock wanted to bring just the gun the butterfly knife but John insisted that the axe was better. The two men, looked rather well in their gear with John wearing a dark coat with jeans and Sherlock in a sooty trench-coat and black trousers, they set out.

In a world ruled by the undead, finding one is no difficult task at all. They encountered their first target within minutes.  
"Okay so one quick swipe to the head-"  
"I know John."  
"Well if you want me to teach you then listen." The undead monster shuffles closer to the pair. "If you miss back off and get your balance, don't go for another swing straight after. Put all your strength into each blow."  
Sherlock gritted his teeth and tightened his grip around his weapon.  
"Now wait until he's just within arms reach and.. GO!"  
The blade meets it's target and the creature froze in it's path. Sherlock quickly withdrew his weapon from his successful kill and turns to face John fighting the smile that appeared on his face. John on the other hands was paying attention to a dried bloodstain on the tarmac.  
"Where did they go?"  
"What go?"  
"The bodies. You know of the pair that we killed earlier."  
Sherlock turned around and walked towards a walker crawling out of the ditch. Without a second thought he lodged his axe right into the center of its skull and then continued down the road.

The continued this training until both men were lying exhausted outside an abandoned music shop. Slumping against the wall they caught their breath.  
"That... was.. pretty... amazing." pants John.  
He's stunned at how quickly Sherlock caught on. Sherlock smiling at the compliment, suddenly jumped up and entered the shop.  
"Quickly John there's something I need in here and I need your help." John instantly followed Sherlock into the building.  
"What could you possibly need in here?" questioned the doctor.  
"You'll see." replied Sherlock scanning through the instruments. He turned the corner to see the remains of a human lying on the floor. Sherlock steped over the corpse when it suddenly grabbed hold of his ankle causing him to crash into the shelves. Sherlock trapped under the wood began to panic  
"Calm. Stay calm." he thought to himself. He wasn't letting fear take over him again. Not this time.

The monsters jaw extends as hes prepares to take a chunk out of Sherlock's leg. A swift kick in the face from Sherlock, sent it back a few inches, using his time he pulled out his gun and aimed for the brain. _Smash. _A crowbar appeared in the middle of the zombies head with an angry John behind it. John quickly pulled the now dead corpse away from Sherlock and hoisted up the end of his trousers.  
"Are you okay? Did it touch you? You better tell if it had because it's going to be too late if you don't say anything."  
"I'm fine, I could of handled it." said Sherlock lifting off the debris pinning him down.  
"Not if you pulled the trigger, we'd be surrounded in minutes if you had." He helped Sherlock off the ground. Sherlock, not thanking his savior just turned his back to him. John feeling a little hurt by this headed towards the CD's. Disregarding this, Sherlock spotted what he was searching for, reacheed over the counter and selected a violin. He'll thank John later with this. His fingers trembled as he brush them along the wood of the instrument. A smile spread across his face as he inspected it.  
"Just like the one at Baker Street." he muttered.  
"Huh?" says John as he spoted the violin. "Oh I never knew you play."  
"All the time."  
"Can I hear?" asked John stupidly, knowing that they couldn't make a sound here.  
"When we get home." Home. Neither of them called it home, it was always the house but when Sherlock said home, it felt right. John smiles back.  
"Yeah let's go hom-" _BANG. _A gunshot was heard near the building. The two men hurried to the exit to see who was out there, Sherlock stops mid-pace as soon as he recognised the shooter.


	7. Forgotten Guard

"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled and quickly sped off to help the shooter. The man named Lestrade ignored Sherlock's cry and ran towards a parked vehicle. John was starting to catching up. The man swung open the door and another person leaped out flinging her arms around him. He spun her in the air in complete joy until he caught sight of Sherlock and John closing in. Putting the woman back on her feet he momentarily stood there gobsmacked.

"Sherlock? You cunning bastard! I knew you'd make it." The woman spun around at the name Sherlock.  
"Hello Molly."  
"Oh my gosh Sherlock!" She ran up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a big hug. Sherlock looking extremely uncomfortable gave her an awkward pat. In those moments everyone forgot about the corpses rotting in the streets, the monsters lurking in the darkness and the danger of their world. All except John. He cleared his throat and Molly quickly let go of Sherlock and was back by Lestrade's side.

"Sorry." Sherlock said to John. "These are my... friends, Molly and Gavin-"  
"It's Greg!" cried Lestrade exasperated while Sherlock fights back a smirk.  
"Really? I prefer Gavin."  
"Well it's Greg."  
"Very well then. John, Greg and Molly. I suppose you can figure the rest out yourselves." declared Sherlock waving his hands to each person as he calls their name. John shook Lestrade's and Molly's hand. He was becoming anxious to leave. Sound attracts walkers and gunshots were pretty loud.  
"Hate to ruin this little get together but we should move." commented John, taking quick glances around them.  
"Yes quite." agreed Sherlock. A distant moan emerged from a building across the street. Three walkers shuffled out onto the road. Sherlock immediately sprinted towards the music shop followed by the others.

A walker appeared from an alley coming dangerously close to Sherlock. Upon seeing this John ran even faster to his friend but the detective simply plunged a knife into the temple of the deceased being. Withdrawing the blade he grabbed the violin and bow.  
"Right we've got to go, now." commanded John drawing his weapons. Lestrade and Molly finally caught up.  
"We can't forget the others!" pleaded Lestrade.  
"What others?" Sherlock looked around for any sign of human life.  
"Sally and Phillip." piped in Molly. A walker appeared suddenly behind Lestrade attempting to take a lethal bite from his neck. John quickly incapacitates the walker by driving the crowbar through it's eye. Brownish-red blood spatters all over Lestrade's grey coat.

The number of zombies began to pile up. More and more wander onto the streets after waking up from their dead slumber. Time was becoming a luxury that they were running out of.  
"Anderson and Donovan.." muttered Sherlock under his breath. John overhears this and shot a look at Sherlock.  
"We're not going to leave them Sherlock."  
"Why?"  
"It's too dangerous for them."  
"It's too dangerous for us too!"  
"I refuse to leave them to die!"  
"I'm not letting you die either!" Both men locked eyes for a moment. John's mouth opened but his throat became too dry from him to speak. Suddenly more gunshots were heard followed by a terrified scream.

Lestrade looked at the two men and then Molly. He placed his two hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.  
"I want you to stay with Sherlock."  
"But Greg-"  
"But nothing. I have to go and help the others, you'll be safer with them. Please." Tears forming in her eyes she leaned in and gave Lestrade a light kiss. He cupped her face in his hands for a moment before turning his back to her.  
"I'm coming with you." announced John but before he took a step he felt a hand on his arm.  
"John." began Sherlock with a slight look of fear on his face.  
"Sherlock, I'm a doctor there could be injuries. They need my help." Sherlock swallowed hard before releasing the doctor. "Take Molly back home, she'll be safe there."

Sherlock not wasting another second gave Molly a light push in the direction of his destination and the pair exit the village in a mad dash. John jogged to catch up with Lestrade.  
"I think the sound came from the market."


	8. Surrounded

Heart pumping, adrenalin flowing, they sprinted towards the run-down market place. John, from studying his map, knew the quickest route and led the way. Both men took a shortcut through the alley, narrowly dodging a stationary walker. John knew if Sherlock saw him he would be pissed at his recklessness but he pushed the thought back as he pushed himself forward. They almost reach the corner when a terrified yell appeared followed by a gunshot. Finally out into clear view John witnessed the situation.

Ten maybe twenty zombies were surrounding their prey, baring their teeth they moaned as they slowly cornered their victims. A small few corpses are lying on the concrete having severe head injuries with a dark liquid oozing from them. Finally John caught a glimpse of a dark woman with brown curly hair and a lanky man standing guard over her. The woman had obviously been injured in some way. Not bitten John hoped. Once a person gets bitten there's no going back. He'd seen it too many times, no matter what he tried the infected person always died within a few hours and joined the army of the undead.

"Anderson! Donovan!" Lestrade cried and he attempted a mad dash into the horde before being prevented by John's firm grip on his bag. Quickly yanking him back John developed a plan.  
"We can't kill them all, there's too many. We need to do this smartly."  
"And quickly!"  
"Yes now listen, these guys are slow lets use this to our advantage. There's less of them by that car there, we can make a gap for them to escape!" John explained while pointing at the abandoned Audi.  
"No time to waste!" and with that they sped over and clambered onto the car. John and Lestrade, their guns ready, fired into the sea of monsters clearing an escape. Anderson quickly realising what was happening picked up the injured Donovan and ran towards the gunmen.

"Quickly they're closing in!" shouted Lestrade as John spun around to shoot a zombie creeping up behind them.  
"Greg they're coming from everywhere." A vast number of zombies now filled the street, all of them hungry and eyeing their next meal. Zombies awakening from their slumber began crawling out of cars and buildings towards the small group. Anderson finally reaching Lestrade puts Donovan back on her feet.  
"Any chance you can walk on it?" asked Anderson.  
"Of course I bloody can't, I can bearly even stand!" snapped Donovan. John took a quick glance down noticing the blood stain on her trousers before diverting his attention back onto the undead army in front of him. "Not a bite." he mentally noted.  
"Greg you carry her, you're stronger. We need to go fast." ordered John while firing another bullet. Greg nodded before lifting up Donovan who groaned in pain.  
"Who are you?" she questioned towards John.  
"Doesn't matter." _BLAM! _"All that matters is getting the hell out of here." _BLAM! _On that note the group dashed around the car and made their way through the horde, John, Sally and Phillip firing in all directions. They made a turn into the alley before coming to an abrupt stop. It was full of the undead.

"Shit." muttered Lestrade turning to John "Where to now?" Quickly looking around John tried to use the best of his military training. If only Sherlock was here, he'd know what to do but then he's safer at home.  
"This way!" John replies and the group make their way down the possessed street.  
"We're going to die!"  
"Shut up Anderson." The sound of guns firing and undead moans filled the street. Ammo was becoming scarce as they load the last of their bullets. Donovan released a scream as a walker appeared in-front of Lestrade before John inserts his crowbar into it's skull. Carrying Donovan was slowing them down too much, it was going to get them killed when suddenly John spotted a trolley next to a wall.  
"Quick put her in the trolley!"  
"What?" asked Lestrade visibly confused.  
"The trolley it will be easier, just do it!" Anderson ran ahead and grabbed the trolley.

The group were making their way past the monsters, John and Anderson bearing arms attacking all that got in the way, and Lestrade pushing a trolley with Donovan shooting any target that became a threat. The group would of looked hilarious if it wasn't so serious and treacherous. The crowd of zombies thinned as they make their way through the streets.  
"I'm out!" yelled Anderson. John's gun also made the familiar click of emptiness. Now they had to go all melee, this was dangerous as they'll tire out quicker.

John was never in this part of the town yet, although he had studied the map of it he didn't know what to expect such as the pothole the trolley suddenly fell into sending Lestrade and Donovan flying. The zombies gaining the upper hand of their misfortune surrounded the dazed pair while Anderson got into a battle with a pack of zombies. John spun around to see the walkers edge closer and closer to the fallen survivors. No bullets just his crowbar and not enough time, Anderson being busy defending himself John had to quickly make a very tough decision. _**Who to save.**_

He ran towards the pair making weighing the odds, both were dazed maybe even unconscious and both won't be able to defend themselves in time. _One will die and John gets to decide which one. _John began to weigh the odds_. _Lestrade; John has known for longer, he's a good man, he has Molly waiting for him he can't die. Donovan, she's great with a gun, she's useful, very useful but she's also injured, she has Phillip fighting for her. She can't die either. Then John remembers what Sherlock had said earlier, Lestrade was his friend. John altered his path slightly and made his way towards Lestrade, a walker leered over the mans faces as he attempts to sink his teeth in but before he could get a taste John shoved the end of his crowbar into the back of the walker's head. Lestrade looked distantly at John before lifting his arm in a call for help. John hoisted his new friend up when without warning a hideous scream emergeed as two walkers began to devour the poor woman.

"SALLY!" Anderson roared in dispare as blood gushes from the soon-to-be lifeless Donovan.  
"Oh god." Lestrade murmured.  
"I'm sorry." uttered John pushing Lestrade forward. Donovan's bleeding body provided the distraction they needed to escape. Anderson stumbled towards Donovan before Lestrade placed a shaky hand onto his chest.  
"We got to move Phillip we can grieve later."  
"I can't leave her, not like this." His voice broke as tears began to fall down his face.  
"We have no choice. I'm.. I'm sorry Phillip." said John looking sorrowfully at the bearded man. He understood what it felt like, after Mary... he just shut down. Almost got him killed but he wasn't going to let that happen to Anderson. There was enough death already.

The group made their way up the street, back home, leaving behind the remains of Donovan. The weather matching their mood, rain began to fall. John looked back the the crowd huddled around Sally's body, a sign of the walkers small victory yet again.


	9. Three Funerals

**Hey guys sorry for the long update! I rewrote the entire story again, I'd advise you to reread parts of it for the plot, but if not doesn't matter! I've been insanely busy so again sorry for the delay, if people even read this that is. Feel free to comment guys! **

The rain washed the blood and scent off the group. It was a minor blessing from the sky, at least the zombies wouldn't follow them back. The group silently paced towards the house, except for Anderson who released the odd sniff. Lestrade placed his hand on Anderson's shoulder in an attempt to console him.  
"This is all my fault." he moaned.  
"No it isn't we couldn't do anything." comforted Lestrade.  
"If I didn't just fire that stupid gun in the first place." His eyes were bright red but the rain washed away all his tears.  
"We can't live in a world of ifs. Especially not now. what has happened has happened." stated John. Anderson gave him an angry stare before his eyes fell.  
"I just miss her!" cried Anderson as a fresh wave of tears came over him.  
"Come on Phillip, wait until we get back. Please." Lestrade turned his attention to John. "Is it far now?"  
"Just there." answered John.  
The tall wooden fence of their safe haven came into view. Lestrade whistled when he saw it. John knew Sherlock would be pleased if he saw that. The ladder was still out for John to climb over. When the clambered over the fence John pulled the ladder over into the garden. The house was dark, no light coming though the gaps of the wooden boards. That's when he heard the sound of a shovel plunging into the earth.

Sherlock was at the very back of the garden by the edge of the fence digging, with Molly helping out. John and Lestrade ran over to see what Sherlock was doing. Anderson sat on the step next to the back door, his head in his hands. They were digging graves. Mud covered every inch of the pair of them. Sherlock looked up at John his eyes red like Anderson's.  
"What's going on?" asked Lestrade.  
"A funeral." replied Molly. Sherlock turned his back and continued digging.  
"Who's? Donovan's? How did you know about -"  
"Sally's dead?!" squeaked Molly dropping her shovel. She leaned over to get a look at Anderson sobbing on the steps. That's when John realised who the pair of zombies were.  
"My _parents_." huffed Sherlock as he threw a lump of mud further than needed. John hopped into the hole that Molly was digging and picked up her shovel.  
"I'll take it from here, you can talk to Anderson. You know him better than me." The rain began to ease off to a light drizzle. Molly nodded and crawled out of the pit. Lestrade put his arm around her and said he would start making gravestones. Sherlock was too involed in his digging to even notice Lestrade's words. John gave him a brief nod before sticking the spade into the soil.

The two men were digging for an hour before John decided to break the silence.  
"What were their names?"  
"Robert and Clara. She preferred being called Violet, never understood why." Sherlock looked up to the grey sky. "I know the idea of an afterlife seems impossible. It is impossible. But it is a beautiful concept." A single tear rolled down his face. "Instead of this!" He stabbed the ground with his shovel causing a splash of mud and water. John stood their silently looking at the two bodies carefully wrapped in sheets before him. He agreed with Sherlock, there were many times in his life where he wanted to believe but he couldn't.  
"When." John cleared his throat. "When Mary died, Sherlock, I shut down. I gave up. I was so alone, then you showed up." Sherlock tilted his head towards John. "What I'm trying to say is, you're not alone. I'm here. So is Molly, Greg and Phillip."  
"Thank you John." Sherlock measured the length and depth of the graves using his shovel. "I think this will suffice."

Everyone gathered around as they lowered the bodies into the pit. The atmosphere was dense as the mud below them. When the bodies hit the ground with a thump all eyes turned to Sherlock, expecting him to say something. Instead Sherlock simply picked up a shovel and began to fill the earth again. John and Molly began aid Sherlock while Lestrade hammered the wooden gravestones into place. Three gravestones for three people. Anderson was kneeling next to Donovan's grave sobbing and muttering. Lestrade paid his respects to her grave before helping the others. Withing a few minutes a mound remained resembling the burial of Sherlock's parents. Sherlock and John stood back and looked at their finished work. Sherlock stared intensely at the graves with John placing his hand onto his shoulder. Sherlock lifted his hand. John was expecting him to push it away but instead Sherlock took it. Molly appeared next to the graves and began to plant a few seeds.  
"It's flowers." she said "To make the grave look pretty."  
"Thank you Molly." Sherlock had let go of John's hand and proceeded to walk into the house. Anderson wiping away his tears did the same. John turned to Donovan's grave.  
"I'm so sorry." he muttered before leaving the graves and entered the house to clean up.


	10. Tea and Trouble

Everyone sat around the fire attempting to catch some heat and dry themselves. Molly and John were in the kitchen fixing up some food, after a day like today they thought they could have the nicest of the stash. Stale biscuits, chocolate bars and tinned fruit. Molly even produced some berries that she had picked earlier. The odd sound of water sizzling came from the kettle over the fire bubbling away. John gave a quick glance at Molly washing the berries. She was a lovely lady, her small smile with her ability to comfort somebody and her gentle approach made him admire her. It was rare to see gentle these days. He stared past the rain at the mounds of earth in the garden. Gentle didn't survive often. A small thud turned John's attention to see Molly struggling to carry the food and a tin rolling around her feet.  
"Here let me help you with that." said John as he bent down to pick up the escaping tin. She thanks him while he took half the load from her arms.  
"He's lucky you know." mumbled Molly nodding her head towards Sherlock's direction.  
"What do you mean?" asked John.  
"To have found you. He told me.." She trailed off wondering if she should go on, if she's breaking Sherlock's trust, but noticing John's heavy stare she continued. "..you brought meaning to his life again." John's face softened and he turned his head to look at his friend sitting on the arm chair with his chin on his knees. John could understand the pain Sherlock must be feeling right now, he realised that Sherlock is going to need a friend tonight more than ever. With this thought he gave Molly a small smile and a nod before entering the sitting room.

"Food's here!" announced John. Lestrade hopped off the couch smacking his lips.  
"Ohh lovely!" he exclaimed as he removed the tins from Molly's grasp. They poured the fruit into bowls and placed the biscuits onto a plate. John withdrew the kettle from the fire and poured out cups of tea.  
"No milk sorry, just sugar." he stated as he passed a cup the each person. Sherlock whose eyes were fixed on his toes until now looked up and accepted the tea. Anderson sat on the end of the couch and nibbled on a chocolate bar, tears still rolling down his face. Sherlock blew his tea before taking a sip allowing the golden liquid warm him up from the inside. He placed his cup on the edge of the coffee table and then stretched out his legs to withdraw and small black item from his pocket. It was the mobile John had found earlier.  
"It's dead." John shut his eyes and groaned at his stupid choice of words. Sherlock looked up at him.  
"Yes and?"  
"I mean if that the battery is gone, why do you need it with you?" Sherlock stopped playing with the phone and pocketed it again.  
"I was told to keep it with me at all times, when I find a power source I'll recharge it again."  
"Hmph! Well good luck with that." said Lestrade folding his arms. Molly have him an elbow into the ribs.  
"I'll keep an eye out for one." asserted John, leaning in to pat his friend's knee. Sherlock placed his hand onto John's and looked into the kind doctor's eyes.  
"Thank you John."

Both men were staring at each other, Sherlock's fingers had woven around John's and John's grip had tightened. Time began to slow down around them. Lestrade raised an eyebrow im surprise while a large smile had spread across Molly's face. The two men completely forgot about their surroundings. John leaned in slightly, Sherlock cautiously did the same but before anything else could happen they were interrupted by Anderson exiting the room. John released a nervous cough before pulling back into his seat. Just as an awkward silence began to consume the room Lestrade began to tell the story of how he met Sherlock and his brilliance.  
"About 4 or 5 years ago now, it think." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Double homicide, didn't have a clue who did it or how it happened. That's when he showed up." Lestrade waved his hand towards Sherlock. "His big brain and his big coat. Solved the murder in 10 minutes, he gave me his number and told me to call him when I was stuck."  
"Which was often." remarked Sherlock.  
"I've solved plenty of murders by myself excuse you."  
"Oh please the Boyle's murder hardly even counts!"

John sat there trying not to laugh at the two men bickering. Molly schooched down the couch towards John.  
"Honestly they can't ever have a civil conversation."  
"So when did you meet him?" asked John stuffing a berry into his mouth.  
"Sherlock? Oh I worked in the morgue at St. Barts when he just showed up one day. He had a charm that I couldn't resist but he only used it when he needed me to do something. He was the one who saved me during the outbreak actually. We were both on the morgue examining a body when it came to life. I'm used to working with dead people, but not when they come back to life again. He got us out of there and then we met up with Greg, Sally and Phillip. We were attacked by a group of people that Sherlock and Greg had arrested in the past and we got split up. Sherlock had mentioned heading west near Devon so we decided to head that way too.. Oh sorry I'm rambling- I do that too much."  
"No it's fine, I don't mind listening." said John smiling.  
"_Oh piss off!_" shouted Lestrade while Sherlock leaned back on his chair eyes closed, sensing his victory. Molly moved over beside Greg again.  
"Where's Phillip?" asked John searching the room for him.  
"Bathroom probably." murmured Sherlock his eyes still shut. The other three exchanged worried glances before John leaped up and ran towards the bathroom.

"Phillip?" he asked knocking against the door. No reply came from the room. "Phillip?" John asked louder slamming his fist against the wood. Still no reply. John took a step back before crashing into the door breaking the lock. He fell onto the tiled floor to see Anderson sitting on the toilet seat holding a bottle of beer in his hand.  
"Christ Phillip you almost gave me a heart attack."  
"This is all your fault." he muttered glaring at the bottle in his hands.  
"What?" implored John.  
Footstep were heard and Sherlock calling out for John.  
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU LET HER DIE!" Anderson shot to his feet in a fit of rage.  
"I didn't mean for anyone to die, I had no choice."  
"YES YOU DID!" The others arrive to the scene to see Anderson fire the bottle into John's face causing to to shatter on his skin. John fell back in a blinding pain, blood pouring from a deep wound across his cheek. Instantly, Sherlock launched himself at Anderson and began to fire his fists into the mans face.  
"YOU DARE HURT MY **FRIEND**?!"

By the time the second punch landed Lestrade grabbed Sherlock by the waist and dragged him away. Molly was leaning over John who was writhing in pain, with a large glass shard producing from his right cheek.  
"Forget him Sherlock, John needs you right now." Sherlock swiftly turned around, picked up his friend and carried him upstairs. He placed him on his bed before running to grab the medical kit. John's muscles tensed as he tried to control the pain. Sherlock leaned over his friend his hand resting on his chest trying to calm him, the medical kit by his side.  
"My turn to save you again."


	11. Tension

**Hi guys! So sorry for the delay I had a bit fo writers block and I was trying to design the comic but I hope this chapter makes up for the delay! Now to the story!**

John awoke to nothing but pitch black. He released a small shout of fright, fearing he had gone blind but when his eyes adjusted he realised it was in the middle of the night. There was a slight crack in the curtains allowing the faint moonlight to stream into the room. He relaxed on the bed yawning before wincing in pain from his cheek. The stitches in his wound proved that the attack wasn't a dream. Memories of the event flooded through John's mind and ended with Sherlock looking down on him. That's when it hit him. Sherlock called him his friend. He hasn't had a friend in a long while now, not since the outbreak and here's Sherlock, a man who claims to be a sociopath calling John his friend.

A light noise snapped John back to reality. He wasn't alone. Through the dim light he managed to make out a shadow at the end of his bed. It was Sherlock sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, subconsciously clinging to his limbs for warmth. John feeling very touched by this, slips out and begins to hoist Sherlock onto his bed.  
"What are you doing?" asked Sherlock groggily, his eyes still closed.  
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor." huffed John as he helped Sherlock into his bed. Sherlock completely intoxicated with tiredness complied and sank into the blankets with John. Sherlock, already back into a deep sleep rested his head against John's shoulder and began to snore lightly. John feeling his eyes droop took one last glance at his friend before falling asleep again.

The next morning John awoke to find himself alone in the room. He clambered out of bed, beginning to believe that last night didn't happen before spotting a bottle of water on his bedside table, underneath it a small note.  
_We need to talk about Anderson._  
John wondered why Sherlock had bothered to write a note for this but he realised why when he entered the kitchen.  
"John! Are you okay?" Molly put her cereal aside and made her way towards John while Lestrade leaned against the counter his hands in his pocket. Anderson seemed to have disappeared.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked. He had a lot of questions for Sherlock but the detective was nowhere to be seen. Molly shot Lestrade a worried look before turning to reply to John.  
"He's gone out for a walk, I think. He left about an hour ago." Lestrade raised his hand to his face as if he was deep in thought.  
"For the best really." he said absent mindlessly. "He was fit to kill Phillip yesterday, and probably still is today."  
"Where is he actually?" wondered Molly. "Phillip I mean."  
"Don't know and I couldn't care less really." stated Lestrade angrily. "After the stunt he pulled yesterday I was tempted let Sherlock tear him apart."  
"You don't mean that!" said Molly stunned.  
"Well I suppose not but safe to say he's not in my good books. He's probably out and about somewhere avoiding us. Can't blame him really." He looked at John. "You know you're very calm about this, especially since it happened to you."

"Yes well." began John starting to feel uncomfortable. He wasn't in the mood to discuss this with people he only just got to know. His main intention was finding Sherlock. "We can sort this out when I find Sherlock. Any idea where he went to?"  
Molly shrugged at him. "He said something about a house he searched a few weeks ago. Not sure what he meant by that but he was gone before I could ask anything else."  
John instantly went to grab his gear. Sherlock was waiting at the house down the road for him. Letting Lestrade and Molly know he'll be back in a while, he left.

John had to remind himself to keep his wits about him. Just two minutes down the road he encountered a pair of zombies. Using his knife he quickly disposed of them and carried on towards the house. The house had changed slightly with yellow and brown leaves covering the ground but coming closer to it John noticed some repairings to the door and windows of the building. John cautiously opened the door before calling for Sherlock.  
"Here John." came a voice from the study. John entered the room to see Sherlock surrounded by a variety of scientific equipment.  
"So is this place, is going to be your little hideout?" joked John looking at the makeshift laboratory.  
"All my ones in London are currently unavailable so this will have to do." said Sherlock dropping some red liquid into a test tube turning the contents of it black. "Damn, so close." he muttered scribbling notes into a small copy.

John plonked himself onto a vacant chair and watched Sherlock finish of his experiment. Sherlock throwing a disappointed look towards his results removed the his goggles and turns his attention towards John.  
"So I assume you read my note."  
"Yes, what should we do?"  
"Kick him out."  
"No, Sherlock we can't do that. That's killing him."  
"He's dangerous John. Look what he's done to your face."  
"I've had worse. Look lets just talk about this with Greg and Molly too."  
"It has nothing to do with them."  
"They are just as involved as you are." Sherlock shot him an exasperated look before reluctantly agreeing. John has also promised not to tell anyone about the location of his laboratory. The two men made their way out of the house and headed back up the street.

John was looking in every direction but at Sherlock, who quickly copped onto this.  
"There's something else you want to talk about."  
John fixing his eyes forwards began clench his fists slightly.  
"Uh, yeah there is actually." Both men froze in their steps, John looking at the tarmac and Sherlock staring right at him, examining his wound.  
"Is it the stitches?" inquired Sherlock.  
"No, they're fine. I mean before that. Before the accident-"  
"Attack."  
"Doesn't matter, before that happened and last night. I want to talk about that."  
Sherlock's eyes widen slightly before he regains his composure.  
"What about last night-" Sherlock was cut off the a distant yell from down the road. Turning to see the source of the cry John sees the outline of Anderson running towards them.  
"Oh dear Lord." muttered Sherlock turning his back and making his way back home. John stayed put, knowing something was wrong.

Anderson finally came into clear view, his right shoulder was soaked in blood as is trickled down his arm.  
"Christ! Sherlock!" John shouted alarmed. Sherlock turned around to spot the injured Anderson and slowly trudged towards the pair.  
"They came out of nowhere and attacked me. I had nothing on me yet they didn't stop!"  
"Wait the zombies?" asked John worried that the man was bitten.  
"No zombies don't use weapons." interjected Sherlock.  
"I'm so sorry John, I wasn't thinking straight." began Anderson in a rushed panic.  
"It's fine Phillip. Just did you lose the attackers?"  
"Yeah but they were interrogating me asking if there were others."  
"What did you say?" John became very worried at the word 'they'. Groups were often hard to fend off.  
"I lied and said I was alone. I managed to escape before they could kill me."  
"No you didn't." began Sherlock seriously. "You led them right to us."  
"No I checked! I made sur- _**BANG!**_

Blood spattered all over John and Sherlock as Anderson fell to the ground in a dead heap. Then out from a crashed car appeared a man holding a smoking gun in his hand with a wide demonic smile across his face. John and Sherlock instantly drew their guns and pointed it at the murderer across from them, ready to fire.  
"Ah ah I wouldn't do that if I were you." sang the murderer.  
"Why's that?" spat John while Sherlock's eyes darted from the dead Anderson to the murderer and to John.  
"Oh because it will be the last thing you will ever do." replied the man gleefully snapping his fingers. A bullet crashed into the ground inches from John's feet causing both of them to jump. Sherlock searched his surroundings for the source.  
"One, two, three-"  
"Five snipers, decided to bring out the big boys just for you!"  
"Who are you and what do you want?" demanded Sherlock.  
_"Jim Moriarty and honey you know what I want."_


	12. The List

Moriarty stood, his arms limp by his side, in the middle of the road with a devilish smile across his face. He held his gun loosely in his hand, not caring about the two pistols staring at him in the face, he smiled at death. John felt that Sherlock could hear his heart pounding in his chest as the sound of his blood pumping was the only thing he could hear. He felt something trickle down the side of his face, having no idea if it was blood or sweat but he kept his eyes fixed on Moriarty. The mad-man looked like a child on Christmas morning and Sherlock was the present sitting under the tree. He wore a perfect suit, not a wrinkle in sight excluding the back of his knees which implied that he was previously sitting. Straightening his tie, he began to fill the agonizing silence.  
"I've been watching you for quite a while Mr. Holmes. You and your little friend." He nodded towards John who stiffened up slightly. Sherlock simply glared at him, trying to analyze any weaknesses and warnings but Moriarty just tilted his head towards the bleeding corpse of Anderson, almost fascinated. Yet remorseless for his cold murder. A rumble, as though distant thunder, told them a storm was approaching. Moriarty rolled his eyes at the sound as if it intruded on his confrontation. Still examining the body he continues.  
"Besides I did you a little favour, killing him."  
"You didn't have to kill him." protested Sherlock with a heavy tone of disgust.  
His smile wavered before completely collapsing and was replaced with an uncontrollable rage.  
"Yes I DID!"

Sherlock and John remained motionless as Moriarty's voice echoed.  
"He knew too much, and he was too stupid. In a way I was just taking him out of his misery."  
Sherlock, somehow still able to keep a firm, brave composure repeats his earlier question.  
"So what is it then?" That you want."  
Moriarty took a large step towards the pair and leaned forward. Feeling slightly panicked, Sherlock grabbed his wrist with his second hand, aiming for a point-blank kill but Moriarty took no notice of it. He began to speak to Sherlock as if he was a young child.  
"Come on Sherlock use that big brain of yours." He tapped the side of his head lightly.  
"You're going to rob us." stated Sherlock.  
"No no no, don't be obvious. Robbing you is too easy. No think of this as a tax. A pay-off. you give me what I want, every month and I'll let your dear friends live."  
"I'm a sociopath. Why would I have, friends?"  
"Oh hon, you are such a funny liar." There was a loud bang as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. Both Sherlock and John jumped and turned to look at one another, checking for wounds. When both seemed relatively unharmed, they realised a zombie must of came close to them. After all the snipers are there to protect Moriarty, who was there unbothered by the noise.

John decided to speak up, unable to stay quiet any longer.  
"I could shoot you, right no-" but Moriarty cut him off mid-sentence.  
"And then my men would put a bullet right through you and your friends." He hissed the 's' at the end. Molly and Lestrade were also in grave danger, who knows if there's snipers aiming at them right now too, or worse. John closed his mouth but continued to glare at the smiling psychopath across from him.  
"Look Sherlock, right here, right now, I'm only showing you a teeny-tiny part of my network, so don't be too flattered." He carelessly waved his hand towards Anderson's corpse. "Take this as a warning. I expect you to pay up." Moriarty turned his back to them and signaled to the snipers in the field and a distant rumble was heard. At first John thought it was the thunder again but the sound continued growing louder and louder. Moriarty froze mid-pace as he remembered something. Quickly stuffing his hand inside his pocket, he withdrew a sealed envelope and threw it at Sherlock's feet.  
"You have one month." The rumble revealed to be an armoured jeep. "Don't disappoint me." said Moriarty as he entered the vehicle. A second later the jeep sped back down the road and out of sight.

Sherlock quickly tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. While he scanned the contents of it, John tired to search his surrounding for any signs of the snipers. Several scattered zombies, stumbling in the grass were the only signs of life left. So to speak. One zombie emerged for a ditch and shuffled towards them. Sherlock stuffed the page into his pocket but before he could incapacitate the creature John had walked towards it and kicked it onto the ground. Every time the zombie made an attempt to pick itself up John sent it back down with strong blow. Sherlock stood there in silence watching John take his frustration out on the undead being. After a minute of frantic kicking Sherlock walked up to the zombie a swiftly plunged a knife into it's skull. Brushing off his fatigue, John turned his attention to Anderson. Fresh blood began to soak into his clothes as he hoisted him onto his shoulders. More zombies would reach them soon and John wasn't going to leave them a meal.

Just as John took a few steps, all remaining energy drained from his body and he crashed to the ground.  
"Sherlock?" called John, but the detective was nowhere to be seen. Panic surged up through John, his pulse heightened as he frantically searched the desolated road. the man vanished without a trace. Peering into a crashed car, trying to gather where Sherlock disappeared to, he concluded that Sherlock had ran off. Felling absolutely hopeless and alone john sat on the ground, fighting back tears. He went to twist the ring around his finger to realised it wasn't there. He looked down to see where it was when suddenly everything went black.

John momentarily thought he died on the spot, but when he heard heavy panting near him he released that a large blanket was thrown over his head. Ripping off the blanket he saw an out-of-breath Sherlock Holmes clutching his chest with on hand and a rope in the other.  
"What's that for?" asked John trying not to sound too happy.  
"The body." replied Sherlock tossing the rope at John. They both began to wrap the body when a bright flash of lightning illuminated the countryside followed by a loud clap of thunder. Sherlock, spotting a small group of walkers approaching began to hurry John.  
"Quickly."  
"Right ready." John handed him an end of the rope, while he held the other. By the time the walkers reached the road the two men were gone, leaving only a puddle of blood and a rotting zombie.


	13. And Then There Was One

**Sorry this is only a right draft at the moment. I've been fixing up my tumblr and forgot the time so I'll fix up the chapter tomorrow. Find any problem please let me know :) **

The roar of the thunder was still a distant noise warning them of the oncoming storm but a light drizzle began to desend from the pale sky. Two men trudged up the road, their pace slower from dragging Anderson and mentally exhausted. No matter how many times he had almost faced death John was never used to it. Over a month ago John would of embraced death as an old friend but now, thanks to the man beside him, he was no longer acquainted with it. Sherlock's eyes were fixed forward in a dead stare. John presumed he was in this thing called a mind palace. Sherlock explained how he stored all his memories in this manner and John even considered establishing a memory bungalow. Sherlock was obviously going through the previous events and figuring out the list he had been given so John remained silent. As he marched on, he allowed his mind to wander, flashbacks flooding in.

"_l'm pregnant._" John was brought back to his old house in the suburbs, changing out of his bloodstained clothes while Mary packed. "What?" He almost tripped over his jeans as he tried to put them on, luckily he managed to place a hand on his bed and regain his balance. There was a brief silence while John tried to process the information before him. "I took a test this morning, I was planning on telling you after work." Mary stated as she zipped the bag shut. "That's great! Wonderful! I'm-" His eyes fell onto his bloody clothes on the floor. "Oh no." Mary simply nodded in response, not making eye contact.

John and Mary sat at the kitchen table, John munching on some fried bacon while Mary ate a yoghurt. All non-perishable foods have been packed away. John didn't know how long he'll be gone for but seeing the state of the city he knew it would be a while. "We can do this." he began, trying to make light of the situation. "I am a doctor after all, besides that's nine months away this will all be sorted by then." "But where are we even going John? What's the plan?" "Well after we've eaten we're going to meet up with Mike's family at Greenwich and then get the hell out of this city. I'm sure we can find someone to take us in for a while." Mary agreed with John's plan, and he streched his hand across the table and gave her's a light squeeze. Mary then stood up and turned on the radio. "Best to hear what the government are saying." John nodded in agreement and listen attentively to the broadcast coming from the small box. "The prime minister is urging everyone to remain indoors. Do not approach any infected individuals. I repeat to not approach any infected individuals. If somebody in your household has been contaminated in any way, quarantine them as soon as possible. Do not to travel to a hospital, the military are establishing a martial law."

"Jesus!" His face in his hands John released a long string of profanity. Mary walked over and placed a hand on his back. Subconsciously she slowly moved it up and down rubbing his back. "Maybe we should stay John, you heard th-" Three loud wooden bangs interrupted her. Mary raised an eyebrow as John drew a gun from his belt but didn't say a word, instead she waited in the hall as John cautiously walked towards the door. "What are you doing? Stay in the kitchen where it's safer." "What are you doing, telling me to wait in the kitchen while you get hopped on my some mad man." John sighed and peered through the side window. "Christ, it's Mike!" There was the sound of clicks as John unlocked the door to let Mike in. His eyes were red and puffy, he could bearly see where he was going as he stumbled into the lighted hallway. He spoke in a hourse voice. "John, I- we gotta go." Gravity almost took a hold of him before John caught him under the arm. "Mike what the hell happened to you." His lip trembled as he tried to form some sort of sentence. Mary ran up and helped John guide him into the kitchen. "My family, they're- they're gone." His voice broke on the last word. "I went home and I couldn't find them, all that was left was-was-" A fresh wave of tears overcame him as John and Mary tried to comfort the man.

John's phone was bearly audible over the heavy sobs but he managed to dash across the room and answer it in time. "Harry!" he exclaimed. In the heat of hour he completely forgot his sister. "Yes yes I'm fine, we're fine." He nodded uselessly. "Of course, yes we're in our way now." Mary shot John a confused look but before she could open her mouth John raised his finger. "Can you speak up? I can bearly hear you. Harry? Hello? _DAMN!_" He angrily slammed his thumb onto the phone before pocketing it. Filling Mary in with the details of their new plan, they were to leave right now and head to Harry's place. It was too dangerous in the city as Mike just proved to Mary. After several rushed minutes the trio left the house and drove their way out of the dying city.

The sun was peaking it's head out of the horizon, spreading its spring warmth. They drove past many groups of people doing the exact same as them, escaping. Some were driving, others on foot but most wore the same expression of shock on their faces. John was about to drive around a nearby town when Mary suggested stopping by to get some supplies. The pulled up outside a supermarket to see many people darting around in a mad panic carrying all sorts or supplies. Mike was left to guard the car while John and Mary made their way into the bustling supermarket. The tellers remained absent, nobody was paying just grabbing and running. John suggested trying to get some medical supplies, people have been hurt and he could try and help at the least. Most of the shelves were barren but they managed to scalvange a few boxes of pain killers.

"We could do with a first aid kit." John thought but when Mary pointed at a medical kit behind the counter he realised he must of said it out loud. The glass case only rattled when John attempted to open it indicating it was locked. "Maybe we could find a key." he began, bending down to search for any sign of a key when the sound of glass shattering caused him to jump up. "Mary!" "What?" She brushed away the glass fragments before taking out the kit. "If I didn't someone else will." John shook his head slightly before turning his head towards the hardware section. "You head down there and grab something useful. I'll take everything we need from here." Mary ordered as threw the first aid kit at her husband. He gave her a worried look before drawing out his gun. "Here take this." "What? No John, I'll be fine." Despite her protests he managed to give her his weapon. "Now the safety's on-" "It's okay I got this." She threw him a large knowing smile before turning towards the shattered cupboard.

A loud scream was heard from across the sea of panicked people. John peered around the corner to see a girl clutching her chest and thumping her boyfriend, who was bent over with laughter at her, with her free arm. Just a false alarm. The couple continued walking until they were no longer visible to John. The aisle was practically untouched leaving John spoilt for choice. He wavered over gardening tools for a bit when he heard a second scream. "Would they cop on already." muttered John but his annoyance soon drained to fear when he heard gunshots. Without thinking John swiped the nearest tool, a crowbar and sped around the corner.

A small army of the undead began to form in the aisles blocking his view of the pharmacy. Several more gunshots rang out from that direction. "_**MARY!**_" John yelled so loud he almost felt his voice box tear. There was a muffled cry, sounding like his name followed by another gunshot. John made his way, ready to take on every zombie in the building to protect his wife.. and child. Blood spattered on the walls as John fought his way through. With each strike he was a step closer. He could see small parts of her blonde hair among the rotting crowd. The entire building had become a battleground with people shooting and hacking their way to escape. Screams, groans and gunshots filled the air.

John was almost there, he could see her face, a mixture of concentration and fear. She turned her head to see John wading through to her a small smile appeared but quickly vanished. "John behind you!" He turned to see a large walker leaning in to take a chunk from his neck. Narrowly avoiding death he drove out of the way crashing into the empty shelves. In a small stupor, the zombie came in for a second assault. John only just had time to raise his weapon and forced it into the creatures skull. It landed in John in a dead heap soaking him in its blood. Still in a daze he gazed at Mary, his hand streched out towards her trying to formulate a sentence but before any sound escaped his lips she disappeared from sight.

"No no no!" he moaned as he shoved off the body and stumbled towards where he last saw his wife. The world was spinning and before John could fall back to earth a he felt a firm grasp on his arm. The strangers arm guided him away from the chaos. Out in the sunlight the stranger proved to be his loyal friend Mike. He was limping. John fell into auto pilot and followed his friend into the car. They drove out of the town and through the countryside for several minutes until John awoke from his stupor. "Mike your leg, it's bleeding." "Yeah one of those fuckers tried to get a taste of me." John cast his eyes downwards looking at his bloody hands holding the crowbar. "Besides you're a doctor and a bloody good one, I'll be fine. " John stared at the ring on his finger, a tear broke free and fell down his face. "Yeah" he mumbled "fine."

_"John."_ John snapped back to reality. His face was wet, he didn't think he was actually crying but his blurry vision and wet cheeks proved him wrong. The sky was now dark with black and rumbling clouds, threatening to burst any second. They were at the gate, Sherlock stood there holding it open, impatiently tapping his foot. "Sorry." John walked through the gate and locked it behind him, by the time he turned around Sherlock was already in the house ready to break the news to the others.


	14. A Thank You

Anderson's burial was a swift one, everyone pitched in. As he was being lowered into the earth each member of the group said some kind words about the man being buried. All except for Sherlock, Molly and Lestrade knew him and Sherlock never got along but they expected for the sake of it, that he would say something. Instead Sherlock only gave a cold hard stare at the blood - sodden blankets wrapped around Anderson. John and Lestrade filled the hole with the earth again. Sherlock went over the Molly to help her construct a gravestone only to be shyly inquiried over his previous silence.  
"I had nothing to say." he said simply. The roar of thunder filled their ears and looking up the sky was ready to burst any second. Sherlock decided a gravestone could wait, he wasn't in the mood to get soaked again and began to help the men filled the grave.  
"More the merrier." huffed Lestrade as he hurriedly threw the soil into the hole. When only a small mound remained everyone paid their last respects to the grave before entering the house until only Sherlock remained, standing at his parents grave. He extracted a small metal compass from his pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it in a circular motion.

"I don't know what to do." he muttered. "The list, it's impossible. I can't do it, but I have to or..I'm sorry. I'm so.." His voice faded away. He straightened up, stuffing the small tool back into his pocket. "You'd be glad to know I made a friend. His name is John, you would of liked him. I certainly do which we all know is rare." About to turn away from the graves, his eyes fell on the freshest grave. His mouth opened as if to say something but quickly changed his mind and turned to walk into the house. There stood John, lingering by the door, hands in his pocket.  
"You okay?" he asked gently. There was nothing but concern in his voice which moved Sherlock slightly. He wasn't used to people caring about him.  
"Fine." he replied abruptly trying to push past John into the house. Sherlock wasn't comfortable expressing emotions and the events over the past few days were pushing him to the limit. John knew this too and wouldn't let Sherlock past until he vented something.  
"John I'm fine, let me through."  
"Sherlock-"  
"John I'm perfectly okay now let me in before it starts raining." And on that word the heavens opened soaking the two men in seconds. Still John didn't move, he was determined.  
"Look I know you find this difficult, I find these things difficult too but you can't keep it all bottled inside."  
"Why not? Why would caring about such things be an advantage anyway." Sherlock made another attempt to get past him but John quickly blocked him again.  
"Because it is Sherlock!" The two men stood in the rain glaring at each other.  
"How?" asked Sherlock almost shouting.  
"Because if I didn't care for you we'd both be dead!" John froze realising what he had just admitted to. Sherlock's glare softened slightly.

"You.. care about me?" His voice was barely audible over the storm. John nodded in reply. There was no going back now.  
"Of course I do, you're my friend." Sherlock's lip curled up slightly to form a small tight-lipped smile.  
"Are you two coming inside before ye catch pneumonia or what?" called out Lestrade from the kitchen. John stood aside allowing Sherlock to pass but he remained rooted to the spot. John shot Sherlock a confused look.  
"Sherlock, we better head in and clean up." Yet Sherlock still remained motionless, his eyes unfocused telling John he was in a train of thought but he still wore the small smile.  
"Sherlock?" The detective blinked several times before recollecting his senses and strolled past John.

The thunderstorm provided a small window of opportunity, the noise allowed them to be as loud as they wished. The house was filled with a beautiful melody emitting from Sherlock's instrument. It started off harsh then softened to a sad dreary melody before taking off to a series of joyous notes. John sat on the floor next to the fire, heating himself up while drumming his fingers to the beat. He began staring into the fire. The flames reminded him of Moriarty but he pushed that memory to the back of his mind. Tonight he was going to relax and enjoy the music. The bandage across this face itched but being a doctor he knew it was for the best to leave it alone, he never got to properly thank Sherlock for what he had done the night before and when he went to look up at him he saw Sherlock staring right now at him with an expression of pure concentration as if this was the most important piece he will ever play.

John was amazed that one man could create such a wonderful sound and he did nothing to hide this awe on his face. Sherlock smiled back, pleased he managed to impress his friend. Lestrade and Molly were both sitting on the couch wearing the same expression as John. They were all sad when Sherlock lowered the bow and finished his masterpiece. A series of clapping came from his three listeners and Sherlock gave them a small bow causing them to all laugh a little.

"That was fantastic." praised John slowly. The others chirped in their compliments too but Sherlock simply waved them off, unsuccessfully fighting off a smile.  
"What's is called anyway?" asked Lestrade cracking open a can of beer.  
"Not sure yet." Sherlock replied plonking onto his chair. Lestrade offered everyone a drink to which Sherlock dismissed. John pushed himself off the ground and retrieved a can from Lestrade.  
"What do you mean?" he asked opening up his can.  
"I haven't named it yet." Sherlock rested his chin onto his fingertips, his thinking pose.  
"You did name it." piped up Molly taking a drink off of Lestrade "Thank you Greg, it was on the sheet Sherlock. You named it John's Song."  
"Oh yes!" said Sherlock feigning an epiphany "It was a thank you for saving me in the shop earlier."  
John felt himself go red and quickly said a "no problem" before distracting himself with his drink.

"Sherlock are you sure you don't want a drink?" asked Lestrade lifting up his bag. "I got a good find earlier."  
"No I need to think." was the curt reply.  
"Oh come on one drink. Stop being Sherlock Holmes for one day!" Sherlock threw him a cold glare but after a few seconds of icy stares he sighs and picks up a can. Opening the can he takes a swift gulp before complaining about the taste.  
"This is revolting!"  
"That's the spirit!" laughed John taking another swig.

At the storm raged on the small group drank until their earlier problems were a distant memories. An intoxicated Sherlock scooped up the violin and began to play some jolly Ceilí (Irish Dance) music while prancing happily around the room. Molly and Lestrade danced along the tune together while John took residence on the now-vacant couch.  
"If only I had my camera." laughed Lestrade as Sherlock tripped over his own feel and stumbled to the ground. Molly ran over to help the drunken man back onto his feet and directed him to the couch beside John who was beaming at Sherlock.

Molly released a loud yawn and Lestrade suggested that they head off to bed leaving Sherlock and John slumped on the couch together. Sherlock took out his phone and began tapping it, trying to figure out why it wasn't turning on. After several minutes of inspecting it he realised the battery was drained and sadly put the phone back into his pocket.  
"What are you doing?" inquiried John, slurring his words.  
"I wanted to take a picture."  
"Of what?"  
"Us." Sherlock stated simply trying to rest his head on his hand. John looked at him with a happy inebriated expression which quickly turned serious. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this.  
"You know Sherlock," he paused trying to form the right words in his mind. "I've lost people too, even before all of.. this." He waved his hands around dramatically and landed his hand onto Sherlock's lap causing his to jump slightly. Still Sherlock didn't remove the hand from him, instead only shifted his body closer to Johns.  
"What I'm trying to say is, despite all of my losses, I still have a reason to go on. And that reason is you." He poked Sherlock's chest playfully.  
"John." Sherlock rubbed his face while he formulated a sentence. "I'm not very.. experienced in this area and- John?" The doctor had nodded off. Sherlock rolled his eyes before stretching his arm around John's shoulder and giving his forehead a light kiss.  
"Goodnight John."


End file.
